


Stand-up

by RosiePaw



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 20:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18858283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw
Summary: In which Aziraphale does it.  His way.





	Stand-up

**Author's Note:**

> The phrase, "All angels only have one sex, and it’s 'angel,' you see," has been borrowed with much gratitude and the author's permission from [How To Tell If Your Guardian Angel Is Gay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768817) by AnnetheCatDetective.

Not that there was anything inherently _wrong_ in making an effort, but Aziraphale had never quite seen the point of doing so himself, as least not since public bathhouses went out of fashion.  All angels only have one sex, and it’s “angel,” you see.  That had always been good enough for Aziraphale.

Things were different for Crowley, of course.  “Lussssst is one of the easssier tebta…  TEMtassss…  Blessss it!  Sssssinsss, angel,” he confided once when they were both well into a bottle of excellent Chateau d’Yquem.  “Essspecially after Augussstine the Hippo…”

“ _Of_ Hippo, dear.”

“…desssided that thoughtsss count.  When I’ve got a quota and a deadline, I alwaysss go for Lussssst.”

And Aziraphale understood that, he did.  He’d seen the way humans looked at his friend, at the long, lithe, not-quite-human way his friend _moved_.  Tempting humans to lustful thoughts _would_ be easy for Crowley.  He probably did it casually, randomly, perhaps even on his way to lunch with Aziraphale at the Ritz or to Aziraphale’s bookshop with a bottle or three of fine wine.  At least Aziraphale thought he might.  It was a possibility.

Aziraphale never held it against Crowley, or at least he tried not to.  They were, after all, _friends_.

A bottle or three of fine wine had contributed to their current situation this evening.  Crowley had always been a heat-seeking serpent at heart but ever since the Apocanot, he’d been – not clingier, but _twinier_.  As the bottles had gradually emptied – and refilled themselves – and emptied again throughout the evening, Crowley had just as gradually shifted from lounging on the sofa with Aziraphale to lounging against Aziraphale’s side to slinging his legs across Aziraphale’s lap to lounging _in_ Aziraphale’s lap – “Mmmm, comfy!” – to lounging in Aziraphale’s lap while at the same time managing to twine himself around Aziraphale’s shoulders and neck.

“My dear,” Aziraphale began.  And that’s when, with a tearing of cloth, a whoosh of displaced air and a thump as a dislodged and startled demon hit the floor, Aziraphale’s wings came out, white, rumpled, magnificent and a full four metres from tip to tip.

Crowley currently occupied a form that had eyelids, so he blinked.  “I thought you liked that shirt.”  He sounded a lot more sober than he had a moment before.

“I did,” replied Aziraphale mournfully, also quickly sobering up.  “My dear, I’m so sorry!  I have no idea why they did…  Oh.  They’re not going back in.”

They weren’t, not a bit.

Crowley, now seated gracefully cross-legged, started to grin.  “Just _popped_ right _up_ , did they?  And now that they’re _standing up_ , you can’t get them to _stand down_.”

“It’s not like that,” Aziraphale snapped, still struggling with the recalcitrant wings.  Except…  Except then he remembered the First Days, when Creation was new.  Even celestial beings found that getting complete control of their forms involved a bit of a learning curve.  Never children, they were not yet fully mature.  They were, one might say, adolescent.

Which was ridiculous.  Aziraphale was six thousand years old, not some uncontrolled fledgling of a mere few centuries.  He felt his face burning and turned away from Crowley’s obvious glee.

But then he felt a gentle tug at his chin.  Despite himself, he let Crowley pull his head back around.  The demon was now kneeling in front of Aziraphale with no sign of hilarity.

“Angel,” he asked softly, “Is this for me?”

His voice was gentle.  His golden eyes glowed with – was that hope?

“I think it might be, my dear,” Aziraphale admitted, “But why now?  We weren’t even, well, we’ve _preened_ each other before, we’ve actually _touched_ one another’s wings.  There’s always bits one can’t reach oneself, a partner is almost _necessary_ …”

“Whoa!” Crowley replied, sitting back down on his heels.  “I’m not judging you.  Actually, I’m beginning to suspect that since the, the event that wasn’t, no one is.”

Aziraphale frowned a little at that, but Crowley went on.

“And as for ‘why now,” it’s all about context, isn’t it?  Remember when people used to kiss each other on the cheek, just to say hello?  That’s different from kissing someone on the mouth, always has been.  ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth’ – and Solomon wasn’t shy about opening his mouth, either.”

The very tip of the demon’s tongue appeared briefly, touching his own upper lip as if in reflection.  It looked human at the moment rather than forked.  Aziraphale startled himself with the thought of that tongue touching _his_ lips.  And then he wondered if he could make Crowley forget to keep it human.

Aziraphale’s wings quivered.  He saw Crowley’s gaze flick to them briefly, then refocus on Aziraphale’s face.

“You said something just now about judgement – or rather the absence of.”

“It’s just a feeling, nothing concrete.  But ever since… The Event, it feels as if things have lifted a bit, as if there’s a little more room, a little more… possibility.  I didn’t know if you felt the same way.”

They stared at each other.  And then Crowley added, with a nonchalant shrug that looked almost real, “Not just you of course.  I wondered about everyone else, too.  I wonder about a lot of things.  I need some more wine, do you want…”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale.  “But not wine.  Shall I come down there or are you coming up…”

Crowley was back in his lap before his finished his question.

They both leaned forward to kiss the other at the same time, which did not go well.  Then they both drew back at the same time, except _then_ Crowley caught Aziraphale’s face in his hands and leaned in again, getting their noses properly aligned, and…  Oh.  Oh!  Determined to prove himself as least as good a kisser as Solomon, Aziraphale opened his mouth and touched the tip of his tongue to the spot on Crowley’s lip where Crowley’s tongue had touched.  Crowley made the oddest noise and then _his_ tongue slid forward along Aziraphale’s tongue, slippery and long and _yes_ , beginning to fork at the end.  After that things got a bit blurry in the best sort of way.

There was a brief moment of clarity when Aziraphale realized that Crowley now had his knees on either side of Aziraphale’s thighs and was rubbing himself against Aziraphale’s torso in time to the long, hard strokes of his hands against Aziraphale’s ventral coverts, which felt _amazing_.  “Long and hard” also described whatever was poking Aziraphale’s belly.  Perhaps it was having his coverts stroked in this particular context, but it took Aziraphale a few more moments before he realized that Crowley had made an effort.  He had made an effort _for Aziraphale_.

This realization encouraged Aziraphale to get a firmer grip on Crowley’s hips and nip at the demon’s pectoralis major (nicely firm from millennia of flight).  It was only when he got a mouthful of cloth that he remembered they were both still fully clothed, which under the circumstances seemed ridiculous.

As a rule, Aziraphale was fond of his clothes.  He didn’t just miracle them out of nowhere, as Crowley did.  No, he shopped for them in actual shops, choosing them with an eye to classic styles and quality that would last.  He cared for his clothes, although miracling away stains and dirt was perhaps cheating a bit.  And when the time came to replace a beloved item of clothing, he did so a bit sadly, taking time to remember happy experiences he’d had while wearing that particular item. 

Aziraphale vanished both his and Crowley’s clothing into irrevocable non-existence without a second thought and dove back in for another nip.

Crowley, whose speech had long since disintegrated into a sort of hissing babble, groaned aloud, sped up and slipped his hands down, grabbing _hard_ at Aziraphale’s supracoracoidei.  Something inside Aziraphale went tense, tight, coiled like a spring.  Then it sprung.  Aziraphale heard himself cry out, a high piercing call like a stooping hawk.  For a long while after that, he couldn’t think at all.

The next thing he remembered after that was wondering where all the down had come from.  Fluffy white down.  Everywhere.  All over the sofa.  All over Crowley – in his hair, in his eyebrows, stuck to his flushed, sweaty face and chest.  Stuck to his lips, getting in the way when he tried to speak.

“Pffft!”  The demon spat down into his fist and smiled at it muzzily.  “Tricky to try ssswallowing that.”

Feeling fairly muzzy himself, Aziraphale wondered if he’d missed something.  “Why would you want to?”

Crowley smiled, a gentle smile despite the hint of fang.  “Oh, angel.  The thingsss I’m going to teach you.”  He reached back to stroke the coverts again, which felt…  too good in a way that wasn’t good at all?  Aziraphale squirmed a little, and Crowley immediately stopped.  “Sssssorrry, too sssensssitive?  You know, for all the angel down that got, er, releasssed, you don’t seem to be missssing any.”

Aziraphale was finding it hard to care much.  “Maybe it just looks like a lot because it’s spread all over?  Sorry about that, by the way.”

“I’m not, not at all.  But ssspeaking of ssspread all over…” A damp cloth appeared in Crowley’s hand.  When Aziraphale blinked at it in vague interest, the demon added, “Your belly, angel.”

Now that he thought about it, there _was_ something on his belly, something that had been warm but was now cooling.  It was sticky, too, he found out when he poked at it with a finger.  Curious, he stuck the finger in his mouth, evoking a hissing gasp from Crowley.

“Bitter, salty… Oh!  There’s a sort of peppery aftertaste.  It’s not bad.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow, grinning.  “Thank you.  Ssshall I lick the ressst off you?”

Aziraphale made the connection.  “And swallow it?  Thank _you_ for the offer, my dear, but I think…  Can we sleep now?  Together, I mean?  Close together?”

“Angel,” replied Crowley softly.  He made quick work of Aziraphale’s belly and then vanished the cloth.

“You could have just vanished the whole mess without using a cloth,” murmured Aziraphale, drawing Crowley snugly against him.

“Could have.”  Aziraphale could feel him shrug.  “Didn’t want to.”

“You wanted to take care of me.”

“Don’t ssspread that around.”

“Never, my dear.  Hold tight.”  Aziraphale managed to focus enough to leave most of the down behind when he miracled them to the bed upstairs.  He left his wings out, although they seemed less… _insistent_ now.

“Ssshow off,” murmured Crowley.  “But a nisssse ssspot for our sssecond round.”  He tucked his face into Aziraphale’s more rumpled-than-usual hair and promptly fell asleep.

Drowsy himself, Aziraphale wrapped one wing around his demon lover.  A second round, he thought as he drifted off.  Oh, that _did_ sound nice.

Maybe he’d coax _Crowley’s_ wings into standing up.


End file.
